Taking it Slow
by The Disreputable Writer
Summary: Cas has never tried taking his clothes off the old-fashioned way before. Dean shows him how it's done. Dean/Cas fluff.
1. Taking it Slow

"Strip for me, Cas."

Dean pushed Cas off his lap and Cas staggered upright, swaying slightly and licking his well-kissed lips, his eyes half-lidded so that only a sliver a blue was visible. He looked so beautiful like that. Dean supposed that that was why he had been satisfied for so long with just heavy make-outs in chairs, car seats, and sitting on the sides of beds. They had never lied down on those beds. They had never taken off their clothes. There had never been more than a dip of fingers under the collar of a shirt or through the waistband of someone's pants. And that had been enough for Dean while he took his time with Cas, ever-conscious that he was dating the purest of virgins.

But Dean thought they were both ready for something more. Not all the way, not yet. He just wanted to see what Cas looked like under that trench coat, to kiss the skin under that tie. And from the way Cas had been kissing him more and more insistently, gripping Dean's hair and grinding his erection into Dean's lap, it seemed that Cas would agree.

"Not like that!" Dean added quickly as he realized that Cas was about to mojo himself naked in the blink of an eye, "Take your clothes off with your hands."

Cas looked up at Dean curiously, then down at his hands. "I've never had a reason to do that before," he said dubiously.

"You've got one now," said Dean, settling back into the chair happily, "Don't do it too fast. I want to watch."

Dean soon realized that speed would not be a problem. Cas tugged at his tie for nearly a full minute before managing to tangle it into a mess of loops and knots. Finally he gave up and yanked it over his head. He shrugged out of his coats easily enough, but he forgot to loosen the cuffs and he had to struggle a bit to get the sleeves over his wrists.

Everything Cas did was ruthlessly goal-oriented. He really was trying to damndest to get his clothes off, and becoming more and more frustrated as he went. Dean was used to girls playing to his reactions as they got naked, smiling coyly as they removed layers, but Cas didn't even seem to remember that Dean was there. He just poked at the buttons on his shirt, trying to get them through the holes with fingers that had never learned the required muscle memory. It wasn't sexy, but it was very… Cas. Dean realized somewhat unexpectedly that he was enjoying this more than any striptease he had ever seen in his life.

Cas finally looked up to find Dean grinning at him. "Stop laughing at me," he huffed.

Feeling relieved that Cas hadn't recognized an embarrassingly dopey-in-love smile when he saw one, Dean stood and gathered Cas's hands up in his own. "Okay, okay," he laughed, "Let me do that for you." Cas's hands dropped to his sides as Dean began undoing the buttons one by one, opening the V of Cas's shirt deeper and deeper, exposing his chest inch by inch. Dean was used to warm skin turning into tepid fabric at the level of Cas's collar, but now that skin extended down and out - an expanse of gorgeous, pale flesh that had never known the touch of Dean's lips.

Unable to resist, Dean bent to trace the line of Cas's collarbone with his tongue. Cas leaned into it just a bit, shivering as Dean popped the last button open and pulled the shirt free.

Dean pressed his hands against the small of Cas's back and slowly dragged them upwards. Under his fingertips, he could feel the firmness of muscle, the bumps of vertebrae, the ridges of ribs, and finally the lowest points of shoulder blades. The skin under his palms was hot and alive in a way he had never been able to appreciate through all those layers of clothing.

"Your hands are cold," said Cas softly, even as he dipped his head to plant a kiss in Dean's hair.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled as he continued outlining the anatomy of Cas's neck with his mouth.

"Mmm," said Cas, his hands rising to steady himself against Dean's hips, "I don't mind."

Dean pulled himself away reluctantly to sit Cas down in the chair where Dean had just been. Cas stared up at him expectantly.

"Now you watch," said Dean as he shrugged his jacket off one shoulder, then the other, "I'll show you how it's done."


	2. A Little Bit Faster

Dean's jacket hit the floor heavily as Cas watched from the chair. He was staring up at Dean, unblinking and earnest, his back straight and his hands on his knees. If it weren't for his bare chest and tented pants, you'd never guess that he was watching his boyfriend undress.

"Okay, Cas," said Dean as he lifted the hem of his t-shirt a little, showing off his abs, "I know I said I'd show you how it was done, but you're watching me like I'm an instructional video. It's kinda creeping me out."

Cas blinked. "I apologize," he said. He began shifting his eyes and bunching his shoulders, trying to figure out the correct body language for the situation.

Laughing, Dean put a hand on Cas's shoulder and shoved him deeper into the chair so he was reclining a little. "Just relax," he said, "You're supposed to be enjoying this."

"I am," Cas assured him, smiling just a little as Dean resumed taking his shirt off.

Dean peeled his shirt off slowly. Cas's eyes followed the hem of it as more and more of Dean's torso was exposed. This wasn't anything Cas hadn't seen before – Dean had had to change and shower and stitch up wounds, unlike Cas – but he was watching somewhat more intently this time. Or maybe he had just been hiding his interest all the other times; it was hard to say.

When he had pulled the shirt free, Dean left his hands above his head for a moment, twisting the shirt around his wrists. He let Cas appreciate his body in full length, his muscles stretched long, before twirling the shirt twice and tossing it to the side. Cas's hands began to move from his knees, sliding their way up his thighs.

And then Dean finally felt a twinge of self-consciousness. He was out of things to take off except everything below the belt. Cas definitely hadn't seen that yet, not since he had remade Dean straight out of Hell (and that didn't really count).

As Dean took his pants off, he imagined that he must look as awkward as Cas had taking off his shirt. He shucked them quickly and unceremoniously, hooking his socks with his fingers as he pulled them over his ankles, and soon he stood in nothing but his boxers. Cas's hands had traveled up his thighs and into his lap. His eyes swept over Dean's body and then back up to his face, where he gave Dean a tiny, encouraging nod. That was enough to make Dean take a deep breath and remove his boxers.

And then, somehow, the awkwardness melted away. Cas was gazing at Dean's body so appreciatively, so reverently, that Dean soon found that he had nothing to be insecure about. He even struck a few poses, throwing Cas goofy grins while he flexed his muscles.

"You like what you see, babe?" he laughed.

Cas wasn't laughing. "Come over here," he requested huskily.

Dean turned in a slow circle. "If you want me, come and get me," he said.

"Dean," said Cas, "Come over here." His voice sent a jolt through Dean's body, and Dean realized his mistake. That hadn't been a request. It had been an order.

Dean walked over to the chair and planted his feet just to either side of Cas's shoes. He felt like he was presenting himself for inspection. Cas leaned forward, his face level with Dean's abdomen but not touching it, not yet. First he reached his hand up and placed it on Dean's chest. For a moment Dean thought Cas was trying to reach his tattoo, but then he realized that Cas was feeling his heartbeat.

Cas's hand dragged its way down, rough and slow, fingers digging in lightly just as Dean's had done. He felt his way down Dean's ribcage and over to his flank, and then continued down past his hip and over his thigh. He looked like he was marveling at the long line of unbroken skin.

Dean was so focused on the hand making its way down his leg that he let out a little surprised noise when Cas leaned forward, closing the last few inches to press a kiss just under Dean's navel. Then he gave Dean a second kiss, this time a fraction lower. And lower. And lower still.

"Cas," Dean said breathily, "You don't have to. Not if you don't want to."

Cas's eyes flicked up, his lips never breaking contact with Dean's skin. "I want to," he said simply.

"I know you're new at this," said Dean, his hand rising to run a finger along Cas's jaw, "I'm trying to take things slow with you."

Just before Cas dropped his head down to take Dean's cock into his mouth, he said, "I know. And I'm trying to speed things up."


End file.
